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It's been two years Good Friday since I joined my sister-in-law in deciding to unleash David from the machines that wer
e keeping him "alive." I can't remember any more the names of the machines or their functions, except the kidney machine.We've made it such a point to live life since then that the time seems somehow longer. Yet I miss him as much as ever and find myself thinking to tell him some random idea.
I haven't looked at the DVD a friend of his made for his memorial service since the day we played it over and over. a lovely party he would have enjoyed so much. But I know which pictures are on it and they are all like this one here. From beginning to end, at every holiday, there was a picture of us together. This one was from the last Thanksgiving. The last one. I might wish I wasn't so obviously fat, but I still love it because it's real.
We decided on Good Friday. Told my mother on Holy Saturday and let him go on Easter. The Knuckle always did think he was the second coming. who knows...
2 comments:
Sounds like you had a special bond with your brother. That's something to be prized. They (who are they? what are their credentials?) say that one of the ways to judge how good of a parent you were is by how well your adult children get along with each other. Sounds like the "Knuckle" did a good job in that respect (or maybe your Dad). Once upon a time I was seeing a girl/young woman and she introduced me to her brother. Right off you could tell that they shared a special bond - laughing together and enjoying life and I suspected (well I pretty much knew) smoking grass (is that what they call it today?) together. It was a bond (the closeness not the smoking) that all brothers and sisters should have but unfortunately don't. He died too young and she misses him still. But true love (in its various forms) never ever dies so they still have that connection. God bless David.
James Morrison
true enough. what the knuckle did was form a common enemy for her children to bond against...but I guess whatever works, works.
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